


Doctor

by hubridbunny



Category: Dr. Horrible's Sing-Along Blog
Genre: Fluff, Gen, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-24
Updated: 2014-10-24
Packaged: 2018-02-22 11:43:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2506580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hubridbunny/pseuds/hubridbunny
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Billy gets sick and Moist takes care of him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Doctor

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this while I was sick a few weeks ago. I hate getting sick. :(

“AH-CHOO!”

Billy balls the tissue up and tosses it aside. It barely misses the small trashcan beside his bed, and lands on the floor by the rest of a growing pile. He rolls over with a groan and pulls the blankets tighter around himself.

Moist sighs. Billy isn’t sickly, per se, but come winter he always manages to catch whatever illness is floating around.

From November to January he limits his trips outside the lair (except to go to the laundromat), and becomes almost obsessive about disinfecting everything. He wears facemasks to cover his mouth, and disposable latex gloves when he’s not wearing his lab gloves. He almost looks like a real M.D.

Speaking of…

“You need to see a doctor,” Moist tells him.

“I _am_ a doctor,” Billy grumbles.

“I mean a doctor with a degree in something other than horribleness.” He knows Billy is just being belligerent because he’s frustrated at being bedridden.

“I don’t need a doctor. I just need some rest. I’ll be back on my feet tomorrow, you’ll see.”

Moist rolls his eyes.

—

The next day Billy has a fever of 105.3, and he’s delirious.

“Bad Horse called—I’m in. The League. I did it, Moist.” Billy’s eyes are red and puffy. He’s staring at the ceiling and has a dopey smile on his face.

“That’s great, Doc.” Moist says. It doesn’t matter. Billy won’t remember this conversation anyway.

He replaces the now room-temperature, dry washcloth across Billy’s forehead with a fresh one.

“I did it…” Billy’s eyes slide shut.

—

“I made you some soup,” Billy doesn’t protest like last time. Moist hopes that means he’s getting his appetite back.

Moist carefully sets the bowl of chicken noodle on the nightstand and helps Billy sit up. There are dark bags under his eyes—darker than usual, that is.

After Billy is situated comfortably again, Moist passes the bowl to him.

Billy pushes a carrot around with his spoon before scooping up some of the broth and sipping it. “It’s watery,” He mumbles.

“Sorry,” Moist rubs his oven mitts together.

“Doesn’t matter. I can’t taste it anyway.”

—

“What day is it?”

“Wednesday.” Moist holds Billy down when he starts to weakly shove the blankets off of himself.

“I-I have to go—“ Billy protests, breaking off into a coughing fit.

“You’re not going anywhere,” Moist says sternly, “You need to rest and get well. What if you got Penny sick too?”

Billy stops struggling. Moist tucks him back in and tries to fluff his pillow without getting it too wet.

He takes the half-empty glass of water on the nightstand to refill it, and turns to leave.

“Moist,”

He turns around. Billy is looking at him almost sheepishly from under the blankets. “Could you get me some frozen yogurt?”

Moist smiles, “Sure thing.”


End file.
